Press F5 to Fast-Flamel
by PencilMonkeyGaiden
Summary: Harry Potter is yoinked from his home world, and ends up in a video game by accident. BvB duelists, armed cat rebels, fatal bouts of spontaneous nudity, and gaudy pieces of overly-talkative, homicidal, very-nearly-family heirlooms; there's a long list of obstacles he'll need to overcome to make his way home - or at least make it to the end of the next level.
1. Chapter I

Press F5 to Fast-Flamel

Summary:  
Harry Potter is yoinked from his home world, and ends up in a video game by accident. BvB duelists, armed cat rebels, fatal bouts of spontaneous nudity, and gaudy pieces of overly-talkative, homicidal, very-nearly-family heirlooms; there's a long list of obstacles he'll need to overcome to make his way home - or at least make it to the end of the next level.

.PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF.

"Oh, Harry! Stop looking so scandalized," Padma giggled, while a self-playing guitar flew in a slow semicircle around their table. "The restaurant's owner probably thought it would add a bit of atmosphere to have live music, but didn't want to spend enough money to hire real musicians."

Harry scowled at a floating trumpet that was getting too close for his liking, and tried to bat it away with his spoon. "It's not the enchanted instruments I'm objecting to, Padma. I just don't understand why a posh French restaurant would hire a mariachi band, with or without musicians."

When the trumpet dodged his feint, Harry managed to grab hold of it. Dropping the spoon, he snatched his wadded-up napkin off the table, and crammed it into the trumpet. "Ha! Gotcha! But seriously, why would anyone try to mix France and Mexico? They're different continents!"

A waiter stopped by their table, placing a small basket between them. "Some bolillo bread, while you wait for your meal?" They thanked him, then turned back to their discussion as he wandered off to the next table.

Padma smiled and shook her head. "Are you worried that you'll order 'Le Gateau', and end up with 'El Gato'?" She took a sip of her water. "Anyway, you've only got yourself to blame, you know. You were the one who insisted on going to the Faire L'Andouille, said you'd heard all sorts of good things about the place."

Harry kept a wary eye on the muffled flying trumpet, while it retreated to a safe distance away from him so it could sulk. "Clearly, I was misinformed." He recovered his spoon and fussed a little over his utensils, putting them back in order. He paused when he felt eyes upon him. Glancing up, he found Padma watching him with a concerned expression.

"Harry, we've only been on two dates, so far," she said. "But I can tell when you're nervous and trying to distract yourself from it." She leaned closer. Harry did his best to maintain eye contact, despite the sudden increase in cleavage on display. "What's the matter, Harry?" - He took a deep breath, slowly letting it out again. "Padma... You're a wonderful person, and an attractive woman. You're fun, and intelligent, and-"

She held up a hand. "Harry... Are you breaking up with me?"

"Erm... W-well, uh," he stuttered. "That's, I mean... The point is, not to put it in so many words..."

He stopped and winced at her flat stare. "Uh... Y-yes?"

Padma's expression was carefully neutral, unreadable. "Oh."

"I-it's nothing against you, I just don't feel that... That spark, you know?" Harry hastened to add. "I think... I think we'd both be better off, seeing other people."

Padma slumped in her chair. "Oh, thank goodness," she breathed. "I was worried I was the only one, feeling that way."

Harry perked up. "...You do?" His anxious frown was blooming into a hopeful smile.

"Don't get me wrong, you're a sweet and considerate guy," she said, putting her hands on his arm and giving him a comforting squeeze. "And you somehow manage to look both rakishly handsome, and cute in a clueless way, like an overgrown puppy, all at the same time."

"Er," Harry said with an awkward smile. "Thanks, I guess?"

Padma smiled back, leaning her head to one side. "We're just not meant to be together, y'know?"

Harry nodded with great emphasis. "I agree completely. You're pretty amazing, and you deserve to be with someone who can truly appreciate you for how special you are."

"Aww," she cooed. "You're so sweet!"

A large sombrero hat flew up to their table, undulating through the air like a multicolored zigzag-striped manta ray. "Hola, muchachos! You two look like a muy adorable couple! You would like to hear some romantic music, si?" It started to flop one side of its brim up and down in a curling motion, waving the enchanted mariachi instruments back to the table.

Looking her deep in the eyes, Harry smiled and picked up Padma's hands, cradling them in his own. "Padma Patil... I don't love you."

She grinned. "I don't love you, either."

The sombrero stopped ushering the instruments closer, staring at Harry and Padma. "Ehh... You two need time, order meal, get drinks, file divorce papers? Is okay, no problem. We go, we come back later, si?" A hovering accordion was worming its way slowly closer to the table, but was halted with a rude 'blart!' noise when the sombrero swatted it away with its brim.

Harry turned to look at the talking hat. "Out of curiosity, were you actually, uh... Enchanted in Mexico, or...?"

"Oh, no, senor," said the sombrero, shaking its hat. "I'm from Somerset, but the wizard who stitch me together, he think I should have ridiculous stupido stereotype accent." It flipped around in midair, turning its opening towards them. "Tip for the band, before I go?"

Harry sighed and dug a few coins out from his pocket, tossing them in the hat.

Miraculously - or magically - the coins did not tumble out when the sombrero spun back around, right side up. "Muchos gracias! Enjoy your meal!"

Once the sombrero had flown off to harass the other diners, pushing the instruments ahead of itself with its wide brim, Harry turned back to Padma.

Whatever he was about to say was lost, as a whirling vortex of purplish-green energy sprang into existence in front of the far wall, over a table that was filled with dancing flower decorations.

"Damn," Harry muttered, drawing his wand. "Looks like this date was about to be cut short, anyway."

Wand likewise in hand, Padma eyed the churning miasma of mystical power. "Maybe it's just part of the restaurant's planned entertainment?"

Around the room, waiters and assorted flying enchanted artifacts could be heard joining the frightened diners in cries of: "Help!", and "What in Merlin's name is that?!", and "Ay, caramba! That thing is definitely not part of the planned entertainment, gringos! This is loco!"

A strong wind started whistling through the restaurant, towards the luminous rift in reality. The marigolds, who'd just switched from a waltz to a foxtrot, began screaming as best their cute little flowery voices allowed, when they were lifted into the air by the suction from the sinkhole in the space-time continuum above them. Seconds later, they vanished into the vortex.

"Sorry, I should probably deal with this," Harry said over his shoulder, looking away from Padma as he hurried to flick Sticking Charms at the other restaurant-goers, keeping them in their seats and gluing their chairs to the floor, stopping people from being sucked towards the glowing rift.

"Just because crazy things happening at Hogwarts usually centered on you, doesn't mean that this has anything to do with you," Padma called out, raising her voice over the noise of screaming wizards and witches, and the ominous droning warble of the vortex. She waved her wand in a figure-eight motion, catching a table with an Accio charm when it soared past and sent it back away from the shining rift. Sticking the table to a wall and using it as a barricade, she cast a string of Summoning Charms with deft and practiced ease, plucking people out of the chaotic mess of airborne restaurant detritus flying past, and scooped them behind the table into nominal safety.

Over the rising din, a chorus of voices rang out from the heart of the rift in reality. "Harry Potter... Harry Potter... Harry Harry Harry Potter... Ïa ftaghn... Bring us Harry Harry Potter," they chanted.

"Alright, this is probably about you," Padma groused.

"Don't worry, Padma," Harry shouted, his body dangling nearly horizontally in the howling winds, hanging on with one hand to their Sticking-Charmed table, that was valiantly staying attached to the floor. "Next time, I'm sure you'll get to have a zany adventure that almost gets you killed! Just focus on saving the bystanders for now, alright?"

"Aw, you say the nicest things, Harry!" Padma hollered, putting up a Protego to shield herself, three shell-shocked looking restaurant-goers, and a wide-eyed maître d', from the flying cutlery and ballistic furniture.

"Even if we're not dating any longer, I hope we can still be friiieeends...!" Harry cried out, just as his fingers slipped and he started soaring towards the vortex.

"Of course we can!" Padma screamed after him. "Call me when you get back!"

Harry vanished into the rift.

Within a heartbeat, the vortex had crumpled in on itself, and disappeared. Without the pull of the rift, the wind immediately died down, random bric-a-brac clattering to the floor.

Then, silence, almost deafening in contrast to the earlier chaos.

Padma looked around at the devastation and clutter that littered the restaurant. She caught sight of a waiter she'd saved, who was shakily getting to his feet. Waving at him until she got his attention, she mustered a strained smile. "Cheque, please?"

.PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF.

This fic came together from several ideas, most of them for a Harry's-life-is-a-video-game story. I wanted to avoid the traditional beginning for such fics, where Harry dies and gets reborn at the start screen. One alternative option was to begin the story in a restaurant, and have Harry ask for a menu, which would trigger an in-game menu. Then I remembered that I already had an idea for an intro to a dimension-hopping story which took place in a restaurant, that I hadn't used yet, and here we are.

(Incidentally, Fast-Fawkes would also have worked as a title, but it sounds a little too rude for the tone of this story.)


	2. Chapter II

Press F5 to Fast-Flamel 02

.PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF.

After the initial terror and adrenaline rush had dwindled a little, Harry tried to make himself comfortable in the void beyond worlds. Not outer space, by the looks of it; this place was a riot of colors and sparks and kaleidoscopic lights, whereas outer space, as he far as he knew, was mostly black and empty.

Granted, being whisked through some ethereal extra-dimensional plane of existence, like Alice going down an even more psychedelic rabbit hole, was a fairly lonely experience. At least that meant Padma and all the other people in the restaurant must be okay, since-

His train of thought was derailed when a trumpet banged him on the back of the head.

Harry cursed under his breath, rubbing his sore skull, while the trumpet hurtled off into the mad spinning point in the distance where sixty-four horizons intersected one another. "I guess someone's doing a ritual to summon me, for some reason," he mused to himself.

"Harry Harry Harry Potter... Bring us Harry Harry Potter... Ïa, ïa," the chorus of voices chanted, the sound echoing in odd ways within this chaotic realm.

"With my luck, they probably have some rampaging Dark Lord they want me to vanquish," he grumbled, crossing his arms.

"Harry Harry Harry Potter... Harry Potter ftaghn..."

He sighed, his body spinning gently in the roiling mosaic of eye-watering pastel-on-neon hues. "Good thing I didn't have anything else planned, this week."

"Harry Potter... Harry Potter... Harry Harry Harry Potter..."

He closed his eyes. "Might as well try to catch a quick nap, while they finish."

"Bring us Harry Harry Potter, that we may sacrifice him, for the glory of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named..."

Harry's eyes flew open. "...What?!"

"Harry Potter's lungs, burnt to a crisp, that our Master may breathe freely... Harry Potter's heart, skewered and flayed, that the Dark One may know our valor... Harry Potter's reproductive organs-"

Harry looked around with renewed urgency. "Exits! Gotta be one somewhere..."

"Ïa ftaghn! Bring us Harry Potter, that we may bring his doom!"

Picking a target at random, Harry jabbed his wand to the side, in a direction that, above all else, was blessed with not being the direction that the summoning magic was taking him.

"Accio bluish-orange spiral pattern!"

As the spell took hold, Harry felt a slight tug, his magic struggling to pull the target closer to him. Since the weird swirling whatchamacallit wasn't inclined to budge, his spell was doing what he'd hoped it would - pulling him away from the chanting voices. However, it wasn't moving him nearly quickly enough.

"Harry Potter! HARRY POTTER! HARRY POTTER!"

Hearing the chant grow louder, Harry took a deep breath. "ACCIO BLUISH-ORANGE SPIRAL PATTERN!"

The spell yanked Harry sideways. His body slammed into the luminous spiral pattern.

There was a flash of light.

Then, utter darkness.

.PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF.

Guttering black candles daubed the center of the crypt with flickering orange light, while shadows still ruled the dour chamber's farther edges and corners. Thirteen hooded figures stood at regular intervals along the outer rim of a heptagram, drawn in chalk upon the flagstone floor. The hooded figures lowered their arms in unison. As the final echoes of their frenzied chanting died out, a shocked silence descended upon the assembled cultists.

One of the robed figures, anonymous and indistinguishable from their brethren, turned to look at the neighboring cultist, and pointed at the center of the ritual circle. "Hang on," he asked, his voice revealing that the person under the hood was male, confused, and rapidly getting angry. "Was that supposed to happen?!"

At the center of the heptagram, where the grumpy cultist pointed, lay a battered brass trumpet. It staggered into the air with some difficulty, and shook its horn until a crumpled-up napkin fell out.

"That can't be right," said the cultist. "All that time and effort we put into preparing that ritual-"

"And money," muttered his neighboring cultist. "Don't forget the money."

"Right, yes," the first cultist nodded. "All the time, effort, and money we invested in this, and that beat-up old thing is what we got for our trouble? I mean, look at it! It's ridiculous!"

The trumpet spun around, tooted furiously at them, then soared off into the darkness. Occasional clanging noises could be heard, getting fainter each time, as if a metal device bumped into the walls of an unseen corridor.

The second cultist reached into his hood with one hand, shaking it a little, like he was wiggling a pinky finger in his ear to clear it. "Well, there goes thirty galleons down the drain."

.PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF.

Harry groaned and winced as he struggled to sit upright. "Note to self," he mumbled. "Cushioning Charms are your friend."

Rubbing his aching back, he took a look around his new surroundings. The place was, in a word, dark. Black, even. He wasn't sure what kind of surface he'd landed on; it felt flat and featureless, neither hot nor cold. Just... Nondescript.

Then, music swelled.

"Hello?" Harry called out. "Is anybody there?" He waited a moment, hearing no reply. "If you're a magical mariachi band seeking revenge, I'm willing to apologize, if you can get me a li-"

He slapped his forehead. "My wand! I can get all the light I want, if I can just find..." Scrabbling around on the floor beside him, he felt a certain amount of déjà vu.

At least there were no Dementors around, this time - or his cousin Dudley , for that matter.

"Lumos!" No reaction.

"Lumos!" No reaction.

"Lumos!" No rea- There!

Harry lunged forward and snatched his glowing wand off the floor. As he examined the immediate area once more, he found that very little had changed. Darkness still enveloped him completely. Even the ground was still black, as if everything around him had been decorated with light-absorbing material... Or there was nothing at all to illuminate.

The music, he began to notice, was not a Mexican tune, but closer to what he'd associate with classical symphonic orchestras.

Gushing up in a rousing crescendo, the music filled the void.

Huge glowing letters bloomed into existence, several meters tall, hovering high above Harry's head.

HARRY POTTER: DEMISECRAFT WIZARD-BLAST

Below that, in slightly smaller letters, was another line.

HEXPLOSION EDITION

Finally, nearly at eye level with Harry:

PRESS START

Harry stared at the unusual messages. "...Bloody hell."

.PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. .PF5tFF. 


	3. Chapter III

As it turned out, there was an upside to being completely alone in a new dimension, Harry consoled himself. It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to figure out that the giant glowing flying letters responded to vocal commands; at least there weren't anyone around to watch him, when he clambered around on wobbly Transfigured ladders, trying to reach some of the highest lines of text.

"Alright, let's sum up," Harry muttered, hopping down from the second-to-last step on the ladder. "I'm in another dimension, or a pocket of reality, or an alternate plane of existence. Hermione isn't here to explain the difference between those things... assuming there is a difference. No way for me to tell which kind it is, really." He tapped the tip of his wand against his chin. "Not that it matters all that much, I suppose."

He sighed, and jabbed the ladder with his wand. Once the transfiguration was reversed, the ladder returned to its previous form - a black shoe, reasonably well-cared for - and clattered to the floor.

"I'm stuck in this video game world until I find a way home. So, whether I like it or not, I'll have to play along... For now, at least." He smiled to himself as he sat down on the floor, putting his shoe back on. "Guess I'll finally get to see why Dudley was so keen on those games, back in the day."

Having finished tying his shoe laces, Harry clapped his hands. "Okay! The game is on." He got up and walked away from the floating letters - he'd needed to put the ladder next to them, when he tried to poke them, but they were large enough and so high up that he got a crick in his neck if he tried to read them up close.

"Although, I'm not sure why I thought grabbing them by hand would work, when jinxes, curses, and conjured birds failed to affect them," he mumbled, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Ah, well. So long as something works..."

He turned around, looking up at the floating letters. Just to be on the safe side, since he'd walked away from them a little and wasn't sure how perceptive the game was, he cast a Sonorus Charm on his throat. "Start!"

The words vanished, soon replaced by new ones. Harry scratched the back of his head. "Hmm... 'Load Game' looks paler and greyer than the others..." He raised his voice a bit more. "Load game!" When nothing happened, he nodded to himself. "Haven't played any games yet, so that makes sense. Let's try... New game!"

Several new options appeared, written in huge glowing script. "Uh... What does 'BvB Duel' mean?"

The list of options disappeared, replaced by a different, longer description.

BATTLEMAGE VERSUS BATTLEMAGE DUELS ALLOW THE PLAYER TO FACE FEARSOME FOES IN MAGICAL COMBAT, WITHOUT WORRYING ABOUT BORING DETAILS LIKE DIALOGUE, OR PLOT!

DUELLING VARIANTS INCLUDE 1v1, 2v2, AND TEAM VERSUS TEAM SKIRMISH BATTLES!

HUGE ROGUE'S GALLERY OF POSSIBLE OPPONENTS, AND MANY DIFFERENT ARENAS TO CHOOSE FROM!

PLAY THROUGH STORY MODE TO UNLOCK MORE!

Harry frowned. "Doesn't sound like it'll help me get out of here... Erm, 'cancel'?"

The details of "BvB Duelling" vanished, and the list of available options for new games reappeared.

Harry examined the list carefully. "Hmm... Most of those other options, like 'Time-Turner Trial' and 'Capture the Stag', are probably more of the same..." He folded his arms. "Let's start with the basics, then. Story mode!"

His surroundings dissolved into a riotous swirl of vibrant colours, followed by a flash of white light. Once the illumination faded, Harry found himself standing on a perfectly ordinary, humdrum street in British suburbia.

"You know," Harry murmured to himself. "I never expected to find myself back here."

He scrutinized the familiar-looking house in front of him. No, not just familiar; it was the spitting image of the house - although not a home, never a home, not to him - where he grew up, on Privet Drive.

...Spitting image, indeed. He already wanted to spit on something.

His brooding was interrupted when a cartoonish-looking scroll with a glowing outline popped into existence and unfurled itself.

PLAY TUTORIAL?

Y/N

Harry squinted. "Are you asking if I want to go back to staying with the Dursleys, until I've learned how this game works?" He laughed. "Nah, no thanks. I'll stick to learning as I go along. I've got a lot experience with that."

He blinked, and rubbed his throat thoughtfully. "Huh... The Sonorus Charm must have worn off, or something. I'm pretty sure I didn't dispel it myself, but... Perhaps the game did?"

The capital N on the scroll flashed and flickered.

Within the blink of an eye - or rather, the blink of two eyes, since Harry wasn't in the habit of blinking his eyes one at a time - he was inside the house, facing the front door.

The letterbox clacked open, and a bird leg - an owl, perhaps? - carrying a parchment envelope was stuck through the slot. The owl shook its leg until the envelope was dislodged. The parchment fluttered down and landed on the doormat, while the leg was hastily withdrawn, letting the letterbox click shut.

Harry crouched down to pick it up, and-

"Argh!" He stumbled back a few steps when the envelope launched itself off the floor, swatting him in the face. He rubbed his nose, watching the envelope open itself and a sheet of parchment slid out. Harry caught a glimpse of a letter he recognized from years ago, when he was eleven; then, his view was blocked by another cartoon scroll popping into existence, also glowing around the edges. It was accompanied by the sound of a cheerful little fanfare.

CONGRATULATIONS!

YOU HAVE ACQUIRED:

ONE (1) HOGWARTS ACCEPTANCE LETTER!

After ten seconds, both the cartoon scroll, the letter and the envelope all vanished. Harry started looking around in confusion, then paused when he noticed several changes.

At the top of his field of vision, there now were three horizontal coloured bars, each ending in a solid filled circle, making them look like thermometers. One was red, another yellow, while the final was glowing greenish-purple.

"I suppose I'd know all about what those are for, if I'd gone through the tutorial," Harry whispered to himself; he wasn't sure if any of the Dursleys were home right now, but it seemed sensible to avoid making too many loud noises, and thus avoid drawing undue attention from them. "Just as well I skipped it, though... I'm pretty sure the red one measures my health, or something like that, and I wouldn't want to find out how a tutorial with the Dursleys would demonstrate that."

Another noticeable change was the little cartoonish image in the lower corner of his field of vision. It looked like one of the pockets in the threadbare jeans he was currently wearing... Wait, when had he changed out of the nice clothes he wore for his dinner with Padma?

Looking down at himself, Harry found that he probably had to revise his earlier statements: Being back in his scrawny, underfed eleven-year old body was definitely the biggest of these changes. If a video game transformed your whole body, did that count as a literal game-changer?

Shaking his head, Harry tried to focus on his current main priority: Finding out what had happened to his Hogwarts letter. A quick check determined that it wasn't in his pockets, and it wasn't anywhere to be seen in the immediate area. "Maybe that picture of a pocket has something to do with it? Oh, right... The game responds to spoken instructions, for some reason. Um, pocket? Pockets, plural? Oh, what was that line about pockets, from those books Hermione convinced me to read? Uh... What has it got in its pocketses? Or, maybe: What have I got in my pocketses?"

Nothing happened.

Harry glared at the cartoon image of a pocket. "Storage? Possessions? Belongings? Uh... Inventory?"

That seemed to do the trick; a new cartoon scroll appeared, with a grid of square boxes scrawled upon it. Most of them were empty, but two held smaller drawings: One was a set of tatty clothes, the other a parchment envelope. When he looked directly at one of them for more than a few seconds, written labels appeared under them: DURSLEY HAND-ME-DOWN OUTFIT for the first item, HOGWARTS ACCEPTANCE LETTER for the second.

Harry blew a relieved sigh; losing that letter could have caused quite a bit of trouble, depending on whether the game would start sending him dozens of duplicates, like he remembered happening last time, and depending on how the Dursleys might react to that.

As an experiment, he tried reaching out to touch the cartoon envelope. This time, he was able to make contact with a game feature; as soon as his hand touched the cartoon, it instantaneously slipped into his grasp. The sensation was odd, like feeling something melting in reverse.

Harry played around with the letter a few times, putting it in his inventory and taking it back out. For comparison, he picked the newspaper up off the floor, which must have arrived while he was distracted, and then tried adding that to his inventory, and removing it.

Then, there was the issue of his clothes, which also appeared in the inventory. "How does that even work?" Harry murmured. "If my inventory is represented by my pocket, wouldn't that create some sort of infinite loop? That could be dangerous..." He hesitated a moment, then reached out and touched the cartoon clothing.

Harry felt a breeze. He looked down. His eyes widened when he saw that all of his clothes were now in his hand, leaving him standing by the front door of the Dursleys' house, stark naked.

As if summoned by that grim thought, a voice rang out from deeper inside the house. "Boy? Where are you? Why haven't you started cooking breakfast? You should-"

Petunia Dursley's unwelcome voice cut off in an even less pleasant screech, as she walked into the room, frying pan in her hand, and saw him standing there, nude and bewildered.

"A-Aunt Petunia!" Harry stammered. "I can explain! Y-you see -"

Petunia hefted the skillet over her head. With an incensed cry of "Freak!", she swung the sturdy metal cooking utensil.

The blow connected, knocking Harry to the floor. He stared groggily at his out- and enraged aunt, still yelling at him; he noticed that the topmost of the three new bars in front of him, the red one, was dwindling rapidly.

Then, he blacked out.

Behind his eyelids, flashes of bright colours roiled and cavorted. With considerable effort and force of willpower, and one or two agonized groans, Harry managed to coax his eyes open, again.

He looked up blearily at large, glowing letters, floating in the air. The start screen was still dominated by the giant DEMISECRAFT WIZARD-BLAST title and orchestral music. Oh, well... He might be dead - technically, maybe, somehow - and his head was still aching a little from being battered with a frying pan, but at least he was wearing clothes, again.

"I guess this counts as a tutorial, of sorts," Harry grumbled, rubbing his sore scalp. "That red thermometer thingummy is probably, most likely... almost definitely some kind of health indicator whatsit. Important safety tip: The pretty red bar is your friend. Don't let it run out."

Before Harry had even had a chance to finish feeling sorry for himself and get back on his feet, yet another one of those damn cartoon scrolls popped up in front of him, mocking him with a fresh new missive from the inane game system.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT:

DIED IN YOUR BIRTHDAY SUIT

Below those words was a doodle of a person who was probably meant to be him - glasses, messy hair and lighting-bolt scar, and all - completely naked and looking rather embarrassed about his bare arse.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "If this is what Story Mode is like, I might have to move on to the one about duelling... It'd probably be less hazardous, in the long run."


	4. Chapter IV

After taking a minute to recover from the unpleasant experience of being clobbered to death by his kitchen utensil-wielding aunt, Harry plucked up his courage, and started a new game. He quickly got past the initial few steps that he'd already been through; i.e. receiving his Hogwarts letter, and... Well, that was about it, really. Pretty embarrassing, when he thought about it like that.

Shrugging off the tiny awkward moment of epiphany, Harry hurried to vacate the premises of Number Four, Privet Drive. He wandered down the street, idly studying the eerily familiar surroundings while he tried to assess his current situation.

"If this game world is convinced that I ought to be heading to Hogwarts, my not-too-distant future is probably going to include a visit to Gringotts Bank, and a Diagon Alley shopping trip..." Harry mused. "But I'm not sure how to coerce the game to skip ahead to those events, or if I'm supposed to just twiddle my thumbs here in Little Whinging, until Hagrid shows up..."

Harry paused at a street corner, and looked around. There was a small park over there... That should provide him with some privacy, so he could experiment with this video game nonsense.

Five minutes later, Harry had found a little copse of trees and bushes where a small, malnourished eleven year-old like him could hide with minimal effort, and talk to himself without upsetting anyone... or, rather: Try talking to the video game he was currently living in.

Settling down on a tree root, he mulled things over for half a minute. Then, he took a deep breath, and got started.

"Ahem..." Harry cleared his throat nervously. "Fast forward!"

Suddenly, a very exciting and unexpected thing completely failed to happen.

"...Skip? Um, skip ahead? Simon says fast forward? Hocus pocus, wasting time in Privet Drive is bogus... Not that one, either?"

A couple of sparrows landed on a branch overhead. The birds shot a dubious look at Harry, and - having come to the conclusion that the boy was obviously deranged, and possibly dangerous, or at least highly unlikely to feed them scraps of leftover bread - promptly flew off, again.

Harry sighed, and rested his chin in one hand. "Alright, then... Looks like I'll have to figure out a way to get to Diagon Alley on my own, if I don't want to sit around here with the Dursleys for however long it takes Hagrid to show up... Besides, it looks like I don't have access to my wand while I'm inside the game, itself, rather than just standing around by the intro screen. It might help if I paid Ollivander's shop a visit... Buying the video game version of my wand should allow me to use it in the game, hopefully."

He rubbed his temples. "Except, I'm technically under-age, so the Ministry would come down on me like a ton of bricks, if I start casting spells outside of Hogwarts... Eurgh. Regressing to childhood is a hassle."

He jumped in surprise, when yet another cartoon scroll with a glowing outline appeared in front of him, hovering amidst the trees and shrubbery.

NEW QUEST ACQUIRED:

DARING DRIVE TO DIAGON!

GET TO THE MAIN MAGICAL SHOPPING DISTRICT IN LONDON, ALL ALONE AND ON YOUR OWN!

"...I suppose that counts as progress, at least," Harry grumbled quietly to himself. "Any suggestions on how I'm supposed to do that? Eleven year olds aren't allowed to legally Apparate... Not to mention that I'm unsure whether it even works the same, in this world. Then, there's the Knight Bus, but it's not like I can flag it down without a wand..."

The cartoon scroll rolled up, and then unrolled itself again. Harry noticed that the words and letters had changed.

NEW QUEST ACQUIRED:

BOLD BUS RIDE TO DIAGON!

GET TO THE MAIN MAGICAL SHOPPING DISTRICT IN LONDON, ALL ALONE AND ON YOUR OWN, BY TRAVELING WITH THE KNIGHT BUS!

REQUIREMENTS:

1) GET MONEY TO PAY FOR THE BUS FARE (BEG, BORROW OR STEAL... OR, IF ALL ELSE FAILS: EARN THEM THROUGH HONEST LABOR)

2) GET A WAND TO SUMMON THE BUS (BEGGING, BORROWING AND STEALING ARE STILL OPTIONS - OR CRAFT ONE, YOURSELF!)

"...Craft a wand?" Harry stared incredulously at the scroll. "I have zero experience with wand-making, but... That doesn't sound particularly safe."

He leaned back against a tree trunk, and scratched his chin. "Then again... The game evidently seems to think it's possible, so perhaps I should try, before I dismiss the idea out of hand? Anyway, I wouldn't need a real, functional wand... Just a facsimile, something that works well enough that I can get the Knight Bus to stop. It doesn't need to be able to handle the strain of casting any spells."

A second cartoon scroll unfurled in the air, next to the first one.

NEW QUEST ACQUIRED:

BUILD-A-BATON!

CRAFT A CRUDE, HASTILY COBBLED-TOGETHER MOCKERY OF A MAGICAL WAND.

REQUIREMENTS:

1) ?

2) ?

3) ?

Harry frowned. "Three requirements? ...Or ingredients, maybe? Aren't wands just made of, well... Wooden sticks, with bits of magical creatures inside? Phoenix feathers, and unicorn hairs, and so on? As for the last ingredient... Some sort of glue, to put it all together, maybe?"

The second scroll closed, and then opened again.

NEW QUEST ACQUIRED:

BUILD-A-BATON!

CRAFT A CRUDE, HASTILY COBBLED-TOGETHER MOCKERY OF A MAGICAL WAND.

REQUIREMENTS:

1) A WAND-SHAPED PIECE OF WOOD.

2) A MAGICAL CORE.

3) SOMETHING TO BIND THE BITS TOGETHER.

"Wood should be easy enough to come by." Harry grinned, patting the tree he was leaning up against. "As for the rest of it... Well, I'll just have to keep an eye out for anything useful, keep an ear to the ground... That kind of thing. Make it up as I go along - just like when we were in school, really."

The 'Build-A-Baton' scroll rolled itself closed, and vanished with a little musical jingle. That just left the first 'Bold Bus Ride To Diagon' scroll hanging in front of him.

"Alright, so... Once I've got a DIY wand, I just need some sickles and knuts to pay the bus fare." Harry muttered. "Hmm... Mrs. Figg down the street is a Squib, which means I might be able to earn some wizarding money, if I do chores for her... Or I could earn regular Muggle pounds from the other neighbours, and then ask Mrs. Figg if she could exchange some of it."

Harry grimaced. "Oh, of course! Maybe Mrs. Figg can help me get to Diagon Alley, without all this rigmarole! Why didn't I think of that in the first place? Although... She might just tell me to wait for an official shopping trip with some responsible adult tagging along to supervise. Ah, well... At least I have options, now."

The 'Quest' scroll closed and disappeared. It was promptly replaced by a different cartoon scroll, with the heading:

OPTIONS

"Huh?" Harry blinked. "What's all this? 'Graphical Reality Rendering Quality', 'Background Music'... 'Sound Volume', and some sort of scale between 'Min' and 'Max'?"

As soon as Harry spoke the words "Background Music", a pleasant orchestral tune began to play, with plenty of string instruments and woodwinds. When he said "Min", the music and all other sounds faded into silence. Once he said "Max", the previous quiet hush exploded in a cacophony of noise.

Harry collapsed to the ground, clutching his head and trying to cover his ears, screaming at the pain. "Off! Sound off! Min! Mute! Normal volume!"

Finally, thankfully, the deafening noise died down, returning to more bearable levels.

Sighing in relief, Harry stayed sprawling on the ground amongst the trees and bushes for a minute longer, recovering. "...When I said that I needed to keep an ear to the ground, this isn't quite what I meant."


	5. Chapter V

Knocking on Mrs. Figg's front door, and having a brief conversation with the old woman, had yielded a new message from the game, conveyed on yet another cartoon scroll:

NEW SIDE QUEST MINI-GAME AVAILABLE:

BEAT THE WEEDS!

MRS. FIGG'S LAWN IS TEEMING WITH UNWELCOME PLANT LIFE - AND IT COULD USE A DECENT MOWING, TOO!

HELP YOUR SQUIB NEIGHBOR GET RID OF THE NETTLES AND OTHER INTRUSIVE VEGETATION... PREFERABLY WITHOUT HARMING HER FLOWER BEDS!

BUT BE PREPARED FOR SOME HARD WORK, AND WATCH OUT... THOSE WEEDS ARE SPROUTING PRETTY THICK AND FAST!

REWARD:

FIVE (5) KNUTS

BONUS REWARD FOR FINDING THE SECRET MINI-BOSS, [The Gristle Thistle], AND DEFEATING IT:

MRS. FIGG WILL OFFER TO EXCHANGE MUGGLE MONEY FOR WIZARD CASH, FREE OF CHARGE!

Harry frowned. "That... seems like an awful lot of exclamation marks and overly excitable choice of wording, for a description that boils down to: 'Do a bit of gardening, and get paid in pocket change'." He shrugged. "Oh, well. That bonus reward sounds like exactly what I need. Besides, I suppose I can't fault the game for trying to help me find motivation for grunt work."

Once the game seemed to register his tacit acceptance of the side quest - or maybe it simply got tired of waiting for him to finish reading - the cartoon scroll did its usual roll-up-and-compress-into-nothingness disappearing trick. With his field of vision free from obnoxiously attention-seeking paperwork, Harry turned to examine Mrs. Figg's garden.

...On second thought, that really was a whole lot of weeds.

Harry rolled up his sleeves, picked up the gardening tools that Mrs. Figg had lent him, and set to work.

Ten seconds later, Harry cursed under his breath when one of the nettles stung his hand, severely enough that it actually drew blood. Sucking on his sore thumb, Harry caught a movement out of the corner of his eye - or rather, a movement at the topmost edge of his eye. Glancing up, he noticed that the contents of the red thermometer-shaped bar had shrunk, a little. "I guess that's more evidence that the red bar measures my health, or life-force, or whatever... And, bloody hell, these weeds are dangerous, if just touching one can cost me, what...? Almost one-tenth of my maximum health, or so?"

Thankfully, it seemed that the small gash on his hand had already stopped bleeding. Harry sighed, stood up from his thistle-fighting stance (i.e. kneeling on the lawn), and went back to the front door.

Another polite knock and a short wait later, Mrs. Figg opened the door. "Yes? Is there something wrong, Harry?"

He smiled up at her, somewhat sheepishly. "Erm... You wouldn't happen to have any gardening gloves I could borrow, would you?"

PF5tFF. PF5tFF. PF5tFF. PF5tFF. PF5tFF. PF5tFF. PF5tFF.

Half an hour later, Harry had made good progress on the front lawn. He had plenty of experience with doing gardening work from his childhood with the Dursleys, and these weeds weren't any more difficult to deal with - more dangerous, certainly, but the gloves had turned out to be ample precaution.

Harry sat up on his haunches, and winced. Evidently, his spine thought he'd been bent over for too long, and wanted to make him aware of just how displeased it was with his poor work posture. Also, he could clearly feel the difference between the adult body he'd grown accustomed to, and the scrawny eleven year old frame in which he was currently trapped. He was feeling pretty knackered, already.

Checking the three colourful bars at the top edge of his field of vision, he noticed a difference: Although the red one, the (probable) health meter, hadn't decreased any further from his last half-hour of gardening, thanks to the gloves he'd borrowed from Mrs. Figg, there had been a change in the second bar - the yellow one. In fact, it was very nearly empty.

"I suppose I ought to pay more attention to all three of these things, in case they turn out to be important," Harry mumbled under his breath. "I wonder what the yellow one is supposed to measure? The only thing I've been doing is pulling up weeds, so... Maybe it just shows me how tired I've gotten? Some sort of stamina gauge, or exhaustion-o-meter?"

He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his arm, and clambered awkwardly to his feet, grimacing at the twinge in his knees. Still, he couldn't stop a small, triumphant smile from curling up the corners of his mouth. It had been back-breaking work, but he'd finally finished clearing Mrs. Figg's front lawn of all the weeds that had been plaguing the place. Now, he just needed to-

Harry froze. His eyes widened.

He'd just turned around, ready to head back up to the front door, when he glanced at the lawn in front of him.

The lawn that he'd just spent ages de-weeding. The lawn which he'd meticulously gone over, yanking and digging and clawing with his bare hands, until not a single dandelion was left encroaching on the plots of grass.

The lawn which was now littered with just as many fresh weeds as before he'd started, sprouting insolently from the ground wherever they damn well pleased.

Harry glanced at his collection of dug-up weeds, ready for the compost heap. Yup; still there, exactly where he'd left them. None of them had gotten up and re-planted themselves, while his back was turned.

While... His... Back... Was... Turned...

Crouching down, Harry reached out experimentally, and excavated a fresh nettle from the lawn. The plant lay limply slumped in his gloved hand, showing no signs of plotting against him, or bracing itself to make a sudden escape. He carefully stood back up, and turned his back on the small hole he'd left in the messy lawn. After a few seconds, he spun back around and stared at the spot where he'd removed the weed.

There was no sign of the hole he'd just dug, mere seconds ago. There was, however, another damn nettle, right where he'd yanked out the previous one... The one that he still held in his hand.

"Merlin's gnarled toenails!" Harry swore. "How am I supposed to clean up a garden where the ruddy weeds reappear as soon as my back is turned?!"

Yet another cartoon scroll popped into existence, its outline glowing with an annoying twinkle.

NEW MINOR AUXILIARY SUB-SIDE-QUEST AVAILABLE:

BRAINS AND BRAWN AGAINST THE RE-SPAWNING LAWN!

FIND A WAY TO USE BRUTE FORCE OR SLYTHERIN CUNNING TO DEAL WITH THE WEEDS' RE-LAWN POINTS, THAT-

"Oh, just sod off, already." Harry waved his freshly-plucked nettle at the floating scroll, scattering little clumps of soil from the weed's roots.

Suitably chastened (or perhaps just biding its time to ambush him with more ridiculous messages later), the Sub-Side-Quest subsided.

Harry tossed the nettle away, grumbling quietly. "This game must be rigged! How should anyone be able to solve an impossible task, without a wand to do impossible things right back at it?" Frustrated, he kicked at a tangle of weeds that grew particularly thickly on Mrs. Figg's lawn.

A sudden stab of pain in his foot made him yelp, and stagger backwards. He fell, landing on his back next to the pile of weeds he'd already uprooted. Along the top edge of his field of vision, the red bar dropped rapidly.

Staring at the wickedly barbed plant that had attached itself to his toes, and apparently managed to pierce straight through the (admittedly quite battered and ramshackle) trainer that covered his foot, Harry barely registered the arrival of a new cartoon scroll.

CONGRATULATIONS!

YOU HAVE FOUND THE SECRET MINI-BOSS, [The Gristle Thistle]!

Then, Harry Potter died.

Again.


	6. Chapter VI

NEW ACHIEVEMENT:

THISTLED DOWN

Harry ignored the Achievement scroll, with its lurid illustration of a cartoon Harry Potter being mauled to death by a goofily grinning flower. Eventually, the scroll vanished with a little musical jingle, which sounded suspiciously like a snigger.

With a disgruntled sigh, Harry turned to the START screen. He probably ought to get back to work, trying to find solutions to all the various tasks and obstacles that the DEMISECRAFT WIZARD-BLAST game seemed to delight in throwing at him... But, with all the sound and fury that had erupted when he last encountered the OPTIONS menu, and accidentally cranked the noise level up to eleven, he'd completely forgotten to use the SAVE GAME feature.

Then again, did that really matter? The only progress he'd made in the game was to get a gardening job from Mrs. Figg - hardly an especially difficult accomplishment - and then weed her lawn, only to discover that every bit of effort in that regard had been a waste of time, when the garden reset and the numerous weeds "re-lawned". No great loss there, in omitting to save the game.

Frankly, he needed a break from all this pointless busywork. (What was that phrase Hermione had used, when she was ranting about how difficult it was to get Ron to act a little more like a responsible grown-up? A... "Sisyphean task"? That sentiment probably applied in this instance, as well.)

Mind made up, Harry nodded to himself, and looked over the different game modes available. "Let's try... BvB Duelling. That sounds like it'd practically be a holiday, in comparison. Hmm... I could pick the 1v1 option, and vent some of my frustrations by cursing a random, hapless Death Eater thug... But I'd quite like to have a conversation with someone else, and not just talk to myself all the time. 2v2, perhaps? A little bit of chit-chat, a little bit of arse-kicking?"

The selected option flashed and shimmered in confirmation. Sounds of dramatic drumbeats and ominous trumpets began to play in the background. Countless colourful squares rose up through the ground, arranging themselves in a large grid, both wide and broad. On closer inspection, each square turned out to be a moving portrait image, gaudily framed; Harry recognized many of his friends and acquaintances - and enemies.

SELECT YOUR DUELING PARTNER, AND TWO (2) OPPONENTS!

Most of the pictures were faded and see-through, but as he stood and stared, Harry noticed a pair of portraits flicker, and grow more solid.

NEW DUELISTS UNLOCKED!

ACHIEVEMENT "THISTLED DOWN" GRANTS:

[Evil Neville]

(DARK HERBOLOGIST)

One portrait showed a young man who could have been Neville Longbottom's twin brother, if it weren't for the furious scowl on his face, and the twisting mass of dark green vines, bristling with thorns, that seemed to have replaced his right arm. Several reddish-purple flowers peeked out from the pockets of his mud-spattered robes. (At least, Harry hoped that the brown stains on the man's clothing were from mud...) The flowers' petals had saw-toothed edges, and moved on their own - snapping closed and lashing open like the jaws of hungry dogs.

NEW DUELISTS UNLOCKED!

ACHIEVEMENT "DIED IN YOUR BIRTHDAY SUIT", EARNED AT LOCATION [Number Four, Privet Drive], GRANTS:

[Nudist Dursley] (1/3)

RANDOMLY SELECTED:

[Nudist Vernon]

(UNWHOLESOME UNCLE)

There are things in this world - some scholars say - that are so unutterably and unfathomably alien to the human mind, that the sheer horror of gazing upon such blasphemous atrocities cannot be expressed in mere words. The feeble vocabulary of the English language, limited to such vague and meaningless phrases as: "Aargh aargh no", or "why are my eyes bleeding?", or "why AREN'T my eyes bleeding?", cannot convey the unplumbed pits of despair that a soul may be cast into, at the sight of such unearthly wrongness. Such unspeakable things, they say, can drive a man insane.

Being suddenly confronted with a moving portrait of a stark naked Vernon Dursley was certainly enough to make Harry long for a straitjacket, if only to use it as a blindfold.

"Oh, glerb wurble," Harry groaned, averting his eyes and struggling not to vomit. "Why would any game include something like that?! Aren't games supposed to be fun, and not, y'know... mind-scarring? I mean, it wouldn't have been anything to worry about if it was just a nude portrait of an overweight person, or a portrait of Uncle Vernon, but a nude portrait of Uncle Vernon...!"

Harry staggered away, clutching his head. "Why did it pick Vernon, anyway? Didn't I get that whole 'Birthday Suit' scroll thingy when Aunt Petunia whacked me over the head with a skillet?" He pressed a hand to his mouth, while his face turned a different shade of green. "Not that it would be any less nauseating to see Aunt Petunia without a stitch of clothing on her..."

Harry's eyes widened with sudden, horrified realization. "Oh, no... Didn't the game mention some numbers? One of three? Did it mean... one 'Nudist Dursley' out of three possible? So, I might risk seeing...? Oh, no! If I get that 'Died In Birthday Suit' achievement again, I'll end up with more full frontal Dursleys! I'd rather die, than die naked at Privet Drive and end up with another one of these... these 'Aaargh-chievements'!"

He paused for a moment, thinking over that statement. "Huh... I guess this is what people mean, when they talk about a 'fate worse than death'."

Grimacing, Harry shook his head and examined the grid of portraits (carefully avoiding "Nudist Vernon"). Experimentally, he tried calling out the names of various people he recognized in the portraits. In most cases, the game just responded with a rude noise - some sort of cross between a car braking hard, and a five year old blowing a raspberry.

However, when he got to a portrait of Fleur Delacour dressed in a combination of camouflage-patterned robes and dragon-hide armour, there was a brief musical fanfare, and the portrait floated down to hover beside him.

YOU HAVE SELECTED [Battle-Ready Fleur] AS YOUR DUELING PARTNER!

CONFIRM?

Y/N

"Yes! Absolutely! All the Y that you want, you got it," Harry sighed in relief.

There was another blast of triumphant music. In the moving portrait, Fleur tilted her head, flipping her blonde ponytail over her shoulder like a Hollywood star doing a shampoo commercial, and shot him a confident smirk.

"I wonder why Fleur's portrait responded, but the others didn't..." Harry scratched the back of his head. "Hang on, didn't the game mention something about 'unlocking' duellists? Most of the portraits up there look a bit... hazy, like ghosts of a painting. Maybe I can't pick any of those, until I win them in the game by earning those achievement thingummies? I guess I just got lucky, and the game let me have at least one good option, without having to 'unlock' Fleur first."

The portrait of 'Battle-Ready Fleur' folded her arms and arched a haughty eyebrow. Still, there seemed to be a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"Right, then..." Harry scrutinized the grid of portraits again. "I guess I still need to pick two opponents. How about..." A portrait caught his eye, and he scowled. "Macnair. I could pummel that ugly bastard all day long."

Another moving portrait floated down. It depicted Walden Macnair, the Death Eater who worked for the Ministry of Magic as an executioner, wielding a wand in one hand and a large, heavy axe in the other. The portrait stopped in front of Harry and 'Battle-Ready Fleur', hovering in such a way that it faced them both.

"Now, who wants to be the second moving target?" Harry scanned the available options, focusing on the more tangible, non-transparent portraits in the grid. When his eyes fell on a portrait of a red-headed young man with an officious expression (probably meant to make him come across as important and superior, but mostly just making him look mildly constipated), Harry chuckled and called out the portrait's name.

YOU HAVE SELECTED [Ministry Stooge Percy] AND [Executioner Walden] AS YOUR DUELING OPPONENTS!

CONFIRM?

Y/N

"Yeah, go on, then." Harry nodded. "It'll be a laugh and a half, wiping that snooty look off Percy's face... And just plain beating Macnair's face in."

The remaining portraits sank back through the ground and disappeared, while Percy's portrait joined Macnair's. Amusingly, the redhead was shooting several nervous glances at the fearsome-looking brute in the portrait next to him.

CHOOSE YOUR ARENA

An array of new pictures began to float up through the floor. This time, it seemed to be a broad selection of different landscape paintings.

"It doesn't really matter much to me." Harry shrugged, and turned his head. "What about you, Fleur? Would you like to pick our battlefield?"

Before the startled-looking blonde could respond, another message from the game appeared.

RANDOM ARENA SELECTION:

SHIP OUTTA LUCK!

Harry sighed. "Story of my life, right there."


End file.
